They Never Understood
by maia.evelyn
Summary: Kari Roberts is a little rough around the edges, but she's normal. That is, until she is attacked on the subway and thrown into a world of gods, monsters and an impending war.


Chapter 1: This isn't really happening

I have come to this final conclusion:

My life is about as good as some rotting thing in the flaming pits of hell.

Let me introduce myself! My name is Kari Roberts, and I'm not that girl that fits in, or plays well with others.

I'm not depressed, I don't have anxiety issues, though you might think so, looking at me. Currently my hair is an offensive shade of bright orange, but if you had caught me last week you'd have found it purple. To top it off, I'm currently stood in a drugstore queue behind several bored-looking middle-aged women, a box of red hair dye in my hands. In most cases, this either screams 'bad breakup' or 'this girl needs help'.

I suppose you could say I belong in the latter category.

There's really a very simple explanation to the hair situation. Years ago, before I gave up on the concept of a biological family, my dad told me I looked just like my mother. It was just a passing comment, with no intended gravity or hidden meaning, but the idea of even somewhat resembling my mother, the woman that had abandoned us with an older sister dying from terminal cancer and a pile of debt, made my stomach turn. I couldn't stand the idea that my father saw her when he looked at me, or that some stranger in the street would see me and remember a women they used to know. I was 15 when my sister Ariella died, and I suppose that was as good a time as any to leave my father behind. He'd never tried very hard to hide his preference for Ariella, my father was to straightforward for that. Altogether, my family isn't something I want to see when I look in the mirror, hence the constant need for change.

I buy my dye and leave the store, making my way back to the dingy hotel I've been staying in. It's the best I've been able to afford since moving into the city, and that was with working two jobs and telling some careful lies about my age. The workers here think I'm 20, rather than 17, but I have long legs and a figure that supports the lie, and nobody asks too many questions when you're a pretty girl offering them money.

The concierge, Chester, looks up as I enter the lobby, and the smile that spreads slowly across his face sends a jolt down my spine. I try not to so anything that could draw any more attention to myself as I cross the dimly lit room, but he is already getting up from his desk.

Years later, I would look back and pinpoint this moment as the starting point from which my life would only go downhill.

"A letter arrived for you, Miss Roberts." He holds out a white envelope, completely ordinary but for one detail. My name was handwritten in spiky letters, without an address. So this must have been hand-delivered.

I go to take the letter, and Chester grasps my wrist in a near vice-like grip. His eyes are lifeless as he smiles once more.

"Have a nice day, _miss._"

Now, I have a certain tolerance for perverts, it's impossible _not_ to in a place like this. Trying not to look as terrified as I am, I wrench my hand out of his grasp and take the stairs two at a time up to my apartment. I need to get ready for work. The smell hits me as soon as I open the door to my tiny room. I need to speak to a manager about whatever the guy downstairs is smoking, I can barely breathe as I cross the room to open a window. I spray something floral and set about pinning my hair back into a tight ponytail before I need to leave to make my shift. The bar I work in most evenings is just over an hour away from the hotel, and in a much sketchier neighbourhood.

I remember the letter as I am heading out of the door five minutes later. The envelope sits on the edge of my bed, and when I open it I'm surprised to find a business card, entirely blank except for a handwritten address. I don't recognise it, but the last line says it's in Long Island. It's strange, but this neighbourhood is full of dealers and other unsavoury activities, so I don't give the thing a second thought as I toss it into the trash can and close the door behind me.

x

Taking the time to describe my work shift would be almost as painful as working in the first place, so I try to clear my mind as I sit on the subway heading back home. However, this is when things start to get really weird. First of all, the subway cart is pretty much empty, aside from a guy sitting directly opposite me, and another sleeping teenager at the other end of the carriage, which is never a good situation for a girl to be in at night in the city. Stranger still, the guy sitting opposite will not stop staring at me, and not in a typical guy way. He isn't checking out my legs or trying to guess how big my breasts are, he's staring straight into my eyes. I don't even think I've seen him blink once.

My stop is the next one, but I'm wishing I'd just gotten off a stop early and walked an extra few blocks home when the cart comes to an abrupt stop, the wheels screeching as they scrape along the tracks. As soon as we stop moving the guy opposite me stands, not taking his eyes from my face for a second. As he stretches out his trench coat slips off his shoulders, and I finally look up to meet his dull silver eyes. My body screams at me to move, to do _something_, but all I can do is watch as before my eyes he begins to change.

The man standing in front of me is no longer a man. His nose elongates and he begins to hunch forward. His nails, no, _claws_, are growing and forming sharp points. His breath is heavy, and he begins to snarl. What I'm seeing is beyond impossible, but I don't have time to contemplate what is real and what isn't, he's taking a step forward, towards me.

"Karianna Roberts, child of the moon. I am Lycaon." Fur is beginning to sprout from his body and face. My mind is going into overdrive, instincts taking over completely. Before he can move closer, I jump out of my seat and make my way down the aisle, facing the monster the whole time.

For once, I am grateful for the ADHD that has bothered me my entire life. Panic and confusion should be occupying my mind, but I am calm and collected. I don't know what this creature is or how he knows my full name, but I do know that I can't beat this thing in a fight. I'm tough, but I'm no fighter. I'm fast, but I can see the muscles in Lycaon's legs. I can't outrun that. The only thing I have left is trying to talk my way out of the situation.

I plaster a fake smile on my face, taking another step backwards.

"Hey Lycaon, what are you doing here?" I don't know how making conversation with a werewolf will help in this situation, but I'm desperate enough to try. He actually looked confused, like he _wanted _to talk to me, but all his instincts told him to do otherwise.

"Lord Zeus. If I kill the child of the moon, I get my children back. Be a man again."

"Listen, you have the wrong person. I don't know what sort of dealer name 'Lord Zeus' is, but I don't know him." I start backing away more quickly, almost reaching the door at the end of the cart. "I'm no _child of the moon_ either, I'm just Kari. Nice to meet you."

In hindsight, extending your arm in a friendly gesture to a werewolf is not a good idea. Lycaon sees my outreached hand as a threat and lashes out, leaving three deep gashes along my forearm. My vision blurs at the sight of the blood saturating my white shirt.

I barely have time to register my wound, though, because Lycaon is lurching forward, teeth bared in a terrifying snarl you only ever see in a nature documentary. I fall onto my back, and he is on top of me. There is nothing I can do to stop him. With what are sure to be my last thoughts, I send out a silent prayer. I do not want this thing to kill me. The New York subway is a _really _shitty place to die. I just need some help from _anyone_.

And then it's like a switch was tripped in Lycaon's head. He stops mid-snarl, his breath hot and inches away from my neck. He gets up, seeming almost embarrassed and, for once, not looking at me. Without another word, he rips the closest door open and jumps out onto the tracks. Before I can even take in what is happening, he is gone, racing down the tracks into the darkness. I get up, clutching my arm, and sit down on the nearest seat in disbelief.

"What the hell just happened to me?" The question isn't directed at anybody, but my eyes finally drift to the end of the cart. I forgot all about the sleeping guy, who is now wide awake and getting to his feet. He doesn't look terrified, or even surprised. He looks genuinely impressed, which immediately makes me suspicious. I try to get into some sort of defensive stance, but the pain from my arm is making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. My knees buckle and the stranger rushes forward to catch me before I fall.

"Woah! Are you okay?" He sounds genuinely concerned, "Here, have some of this."

Now, I am well aware of the dangers of taking food from strangers, but in my current state a lack of common sense can be excused. The guy hands me a small cube of some sort of food, and I take it with little hesitation. It tastes like crisp apples, like the ones I used to pick with my sister before her illness stopped her from going out. WIthin moments I start to feel better, and I am able to get a better look at the man helping me up. Because I can see now that he _is _a man, not some teenager.

He looks like he's in his mid-twenties, with an untidy mop of curly brown hair falling over hazel eyes. The stranger is wearing baggy clothing, and a pair of crutches lie disregarded by his feet, alongside a large backpack.

"Who are you?" I ask, trying to move away without much success. My arm is still throbbing, even if my head is beginning to clear.

"My name is Ash Creek. I'm here to help." He gets to his feet, and extends a hand to help me up. I take it with a little trepidation. "How did you _do _that?"

"Do what?" Once I'm on my feet, I clutch onto a handrail and stumble towards the place I had been sitting to get my belongings together. Ash Creek hurriedly gethers his things and follows.

"Defeat Lycaon! You didn't have a weapon, I was about to step in, but he just _left!_ I've never seen anything like it!"

"I didn't _do _anything. Like I said, he had the wrong person. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get out of here." I take a look out of the broken door. No sign of the monster, but I don't really like the idea of walking alone through the dark to the next station while he is still on the loose.

"You can't! I need to take you to camp!" Ash grabs my arm, and before I can pull away, I hear a sound that makes my blood run cold. A howl echoes through the tunnel. Ash begins to pull me in the opposite direction. "Whatever you did must be wearing off, we need to go. _Now._"

I figure if Ash Creek is going in the opposite direction to that sound, I should go with him. We hurry down the length of the car, but without his crutches Ash can barely walk straight, never mind run. He stops, and for a second he looks like he's conflicted over something, then he shakes his head in frustration.

"Okay, I'm going to do something, and I need you not to freak out." He's deadly serious. He holds my shoulders, looking into my eyes. "I mean it, okay? We need to be faster. Don't lose it, or we're dead."

Before I can respond, he bends down and unlaces his sneakers. They're those huge ones you see basketball players wearing. They must be far too big for him, no wonder he can't walk.

But the real strange part of it all is when the sneakers come off to reveal a pair of cloven hooves underneath. I want to freak out, to run in the other direction, but something makes me maintain my cool. Ash is right, we need to move, or Lycaon will reach us before we can get away. I take a deep breath, then another, and nod.

"Okay. You're half freaking donkey. Okay, let's go."

We start to move, but Ash is muttering to himself in frustration.

"Donkey! I'm half-goat! Do I look like a donkey to you?" He pulls me along faster, it seems like he moves much better on hooves than even with the crutches. "I'm a satyr. You know? From Greek mythology? And that was Lycaon. He comes from the Greeks too. He was turned into a wolf after he fed Zeus children under his roof. His sons were all killed, it was a really nasty business, really."

I don't really know whether to believe a word that is coming out of his mouth. I've been around enough drug addicts to explain most of this craziness. Which obviously doesn't explain the hooves, or the werewolf. A small part of my mind questions all of this, could it even be true? As far as I know there is no such thing as a goat hybrid, and the look in Ash's eyes makes me reconsider believing what he is saying.

"Am I really in danger?" My voice comes out small, surprising me. Ash stops for a second and meets my eye, before continuing to pull me along.

"We're both in danger. See how the train has stopped? Something, or rather someone is coming, not just Lycaon, and when they get here it won't be pretty, unless we get out of here!" A loud crash came from the tunnel behind us, and another frustrated howl. "You won't be able to escape him this time! Come on!"

We ran down the length of the train, and out of the emergency exit closest to the front. We carried on running until we came to my station, where we climbed onto the platform.

"Well? What now?" I asked, panting, and Ash pointed to the exit.

"Now we go to Camp Half-Blood."


End file.
